by Terry Smyth
For all ladies, the hoop dress is quite the thing, with a low neckline and short sleeves, worn with short white gloves or lace mittens, matching satin shoes or boots, and that most essential accessory for flirting – a fan.
A married woman must arrive at a ball on the arm of her husband; an unmarried woman accompanied by her mother or a chaperone. And it’s fashionable to arrive an hour late.
Gentlemen not in military uniform should dress for a ball in a black dress coat with matching trousers and waistcoat – low-cut to display an embroidered shirt front with gold studs – black or white cravat or tie, patent leather boots with low heels, white kid gloves and a white linen handkerchief. Hair should be neither unkempt nor too curly; jewellery restricted to studs, cuff-links and a watch chain; and perfume avoided so as not to seem effeminate.
The last word on ballroom etiquette for gentlemen comes from Thomas Hillgrove, the author of Hillgrove’s Ballroom Guide, who warns, ‘The practice of chewing tobacco and spitting on the floor is not only nauseous to ladies, but is injurious to their dresses. They who possess self-respect, will surely not be guilty of such conduct.’8
The ball begins with an order to strike up the band, whereby gentlemen escort ladies to seats and fetch dance programs for them before introducing friends and notable guests – such as the dashing officers of a Confederate warship – who write their names in the ladies’ dance programs.
Dances are categorised as ‘round’ and ‘square’, or ‘set’. ‘Round’ dances, performed by individual couples, such as the waltz, polka, schottische and two-step, are popular but also practical, because the number of turns involved keeps women’s hoop skirts out of the way. ‘Square’ dances, performed by couples in formation, include the Virginia Reel, Pop Goes the Weasel, and the ballroom favourite, the Quadrille.
Etiquette dictates that gentlemen ask the ladies to dance, and that ladies carry a dance program on which is written the name of the gentleman they’re going to dance with next, and the number of the dance. Ladies try to save dances for the men they particularly fancy, although, strictly speaking, to dance with the same man more than three times is regarded as rather unseemly. Unfortunately, history does not record how many times the names Hunt, Lining, Grimball, Bulloch and Smith appeared on those dance programs.
Both ladies and gentlemen are expected to dance with as many different people as possible, including single and married people. For a lady to refuse an offer to dance is most improper unless she is tired or has already promised to dance with another man. It is also improper for a lady who has enjoyed a large number of dances with eligible gentlemen to boast of that fact, especially to a wallflower.
Lining’s pick for belle of the ball is the daughter of Major Wallace, a retired officer of the British Raj in India. Bulloch has his eye on a girl from Geelong, Smith has had his hand squeezed by a pretty young thing, which seems promising, and all agree as to who are the two best looking women in the room. Both happen to be married, but the night is young.
Cornelius Hunt tells us, ‘It was a decidedly recherché affair. The wealth, beauty and fashion of Ballarat were out in full force, fully intent upon lionising and doing honour to a few of the unpretending supporters of a young government battling for existence with the lusty Giant of the Western world. Every attention that kindness and courtesy could suggest was shown us, and more than one heart beat quicker at such convincing evidence of the existence of sympathy in this country of the Antipodes, for the service in which we were engaged.
‘Many a grey uniform coat lost its gilt buttons that night, but we saw them again ere we bade a final adieu to Australia, suspended from watchguards depending from the necks of bright-eyed women, and we appreciated the compliment thus paid not to us, but to our country. God bless the gentle women of Melbourne and Ballarat!’9
The Confederates dance on until four in the morning then, after the ladies have reluctantly taken their leave, drink and chat until breakfast time, catch an hour of sleep, then bathe and take a stroll around town.
The morning paper deems the ball a glittering success and describes the guests of honour in gushing terms: ‘They are all quite young men, and have a quiet gentlemanly demeanour, which seems to be the antithesis alike of the traditional Yankee and of the swaggering buccaneer.’10
Before leaving Ballarat, Lining calls on Major Wallace and his lovely daughter, while Bulloch manages to find and lock lips with the girl from Geelong.
And when the Confederates board the 7pm train for Melbourne, a certain pair of married ladies is there to see them off.
Chapter 10
The trouble with Charley
US Consul Blanchard is beside himself. His efforts to have the Shenandoah seized as a pirate having failed, what he sorely needs is proof that the Confederates are secretly recruiting men in a blatant infringement of the British Foreign Enlistment Act. Much to his relief, such evidence presents itself in the shape of a ship’s cook named Charley.
Two deserters from the Shenandoah, John Williams and Herman Wicke – both of whom joined the crew after their ships had been captured and sunk – tell the consul that when they jumped ship on 12 February, the Shenandoah’s cook was a man called Charley, who had come aboard in Melbourne.
John Williams, a free African-American who had served in the US Navy, is one of the sailors from the D. Godfrey – captured the previous November – who had joined the crew of the Shenandoah. He claims he resisted joining until Captain Waddell told him it would go hard with him if he did not join the ship because coloured people were the cause of the war. When he offered to work but would not enlist in the Confederate Navy, Waddell threatened to lock him in the coal hold, then, when he still refused, offered him a month’s pay in advance. Williams says he told the captain that as a US Navy veteran and loyal citizen of the United States he could not accept, whereupon Waddell sent him to the galley to work as a cook.
In the months to follow, Waddell continued to ask Williams to join and Williams persisted in his refusal. So Lieutenant Whittle tried other means of persuasion. It is part of Whittle’s role as first officer to order punishments for breeches of discipline, and it’s a role he seems to relish.
In all navies, mutiny, treason and sodomy are hanging offences, but the death sentence is rarely imposed, particularly for sodomy. The most common offences, which warrant corporal punishment, include disobeying a command, neglect of duty, quarrelling, fighting, insolence to a superior officer, and drunkenness.
In the British Navy, flogging with the ‘cat-o’-nine-tails’, a whip of nine knotted ropes, has long been the favoured method of punishment, and will remain so until banned in 1881. Adult males can be sentenced to receive up to a dozen lashes on the bare upper back, while boys – males under 18 – for unspecified reasons, are lashed on the bare bottom.
Flogging in the United States Navy was abolished in 1850, however, and the Confederate Navy did not see fit to reinstate it. American naval officers, both blue and grey, have sought other means of imposing discipline aboard ship. These include branding, confinement in irons, sweatboxes or straitjackets, and continuous dousing with sea water.
Lieutenant Whittle’s favourite punishments are ‘gagging’ and ‘tricing up’. A seaman ordered to be gagged is bound in chains with an iron rod placed between his teeth like a horse’s bit. If gagging is both humiliating and painful, tricing is even more so. It involves binding a man’s hands in front of him, then hauling him up by a rope until his feet barely touch the deck. Whittle, a devout Christian who often quotes the Bible to justify brutality, is fond of tricing men higher and higher, inflicting more and more pain, if their contrition is not to his satisfaction.
Whittle justifies his actions thus: ‘With such a mixture of nationalities the most rigid discipline had to be, and was, maintained, and the happiness of all was promoted by prompt punishment of all offenders. This, of course, devolved on me. Justice was tempered with humane and kind treatment, and to the general good and as necessary to succ
ess.’1
John Williams tells Blanchard he was triced up seven times by Whittle but remained unbroken. On one such occasion, when he and a sailor named John Flood were brought before Whittle charged with fighting, Flood, a Yankee but a white man, went unpunished while he, a Yankee but a black man, was triced up.
Whittle’s journal confirms this claim. He writes, ‘I justified Flood and triced up Williams. Here was a Negro against a Yankee. I had trouble in bringing him to his bearings but he finally came down.’2
John Williams’ sweet revenge is to drop the Confederates right in it. His affidavit reads:
I, John Williams, of Boston, Massachusetts, do make oath and say that I was taken from the barque D. Godfrey, the seventh day of November, 1864, as a prisoner, and put aboard the steamship Shenandoah, now in Hobson’s Bay; that I served as a cook under compulsion and punishment on board said Shenandoah, from the day of my punishment until Monday, sixth day of February, 1865; that on Monday last I swam ashore to obtain the protection of the United States consul; that when I left the said Shenandoah on Monday last there were 15 or 20 men concealed in various parts of the ship, who came on board since the Shenandoah arrived in Hobson’s Bay, and said men told me they came on board said Shenandoah to join ship; that I cooked for said concealed men for several days before I left; that three other men, in the uniform of the crew of the Shenandoah, are at work on board said Shenandoah – two of them in the galley, and one of them in the engine room; that said three other men in uniform joined said Shenandoah in this port; that I can point out all the men who have joined said Shenandoah in this port.3
Consul Blanchard immediately delivers the affidavit to Governor Darling, who flicks it to Attorney-General – and Confederate sympathiser – George Higinbotham, who flicks it to the Crown Solicitor’s office, which flicks it to Detective Superintendent Charles Nicholson, who flicks it to the redoubtable Detective D.S. Kennedy.
After two days of sniffing around, Kennedy reports to Nicholson that Captain Waddell intends to ship 40 hands from Melbourne, and that the recruits will sign articles of enlistment when outside the Heads. Three Melbourne boarding housekeepers, McGrath, Finlay and O’Brien, are vetting prospective recruits, offering wages of £6 a month plus an £8 bounty. A Sandridge shipwright, Peter Kerr, was overheard by Kennedy telling others, presumably in a pub, that Captain Waddell offered him £10 a month to join the ship as a carpenter. Kennedy also heard that a Sandridge waterman named McLaren has joined the ship or is soon to do so.
Detective Superintendent Nicholson flicks Kennedy’s report to Police Commissioner Frederick Standish – who will one day win a place in history for bungling repeated attempts to capture the Kelly Gang. Standish, in turn, flicks the report to Victoria’s Premier, James McCulloch, who flicks it back to the Dixie-whistling Attorney-General, George Higinbotham, who files it in his in-tray, on the bottom of the pile.
While the Victorian Government is busy duck-shoving, Governor Darling surprises everyone – including himself, most likely – by taking immediate and drastic action. He orders that all work stop on repairs to the Shenandoah; a magistrate duly issues a warrant for the arrest of Charley; and a phalanx of high officials is despatched to Williamstown to serve the warrant on the commander of the raider, accompanied by some 50 armed police and followed by a parade of curious citizens. But Captain Waddell isn’t there.
As he tells it, ‘I was on shore, and Lieutenant Grimball was in charge of the Shenandoah. Superintendent Lyttleton and Inspector Beam of the Victoria Police, with a magistrate’s warrant to search for a person who was said to be a British subject, came on board. The cause of their visit was induced by deserters who had been employed by the American consul to give information that one Charley, an Englishman, had shipped on the Shenandoah.’4
When Grimball refuses to allow the ship to be searched, denying that any such man is aboard, and arguing that only the captain can permit such an intrusion, the officials and their police escort turn tail and march back whence they came.
They return the next day in greater force. Some 200 police and troops of the Royal Artillery take up positions at the Williamstown gun battery and on the wharves on each side of the Shenandoah.
Captain Waddell, calm and resolute, is waiting for them. Like Grimball, he refuses to allow a search of the vessel, implying that he would consider any search undertaken against his will to be an act of war. Coming from the commander of a warship with enough firepower to punch some sizeable holes in Melbourne’s fine facades, if it cared to, the threat is taken seriously by the police, who suddenly find themselves on the back foot. When Waddell offers to have his master-at-arms search the ship for Charley and any stowaways, the compromise offer is meekly accepted.
In Lieutenant Whittle’s words, ‘At the request of the authorities I was ordered to have her thoroughly searched for any stowaways. I selected several of the best officers, who made a conscientious search.’5
Naturally, the search finds no sign of the elusive Charley or any other ring-ins, and Waddell gives his word as an officer and a gentleman that he has ‘neither enlisted nor shipped any person for service in the Confederate cause since my arrival’.6
Within hours, Melbourne is abuzz with wild rumours: the ship and the shore battery are exchanging fire; the Shenandoah is about to shell the city; the ship has been blown up by Yankee saboteurs. A public protest meeting, hurriedly called at Melbourne’s Criterion Hotel, attracts a large crowd of concerned citizens. Speaker after speaker condemns the authorities’ actions as heavy-handed, and the meeting passes a resolution ‘that the course adopted by the Government in seizing the Shenandoah was ill-advised, and likely to be subversive of our friendly relations with neighbouring neutral states’.7
True to form, The Argus fans the flames:
Although there is general sympathy in this community for the Confederate cause, as kindly exhibited in many ways in the hospitality shown to the officers of the Shenandoah, it is equally true that there are sympathisers and partisans as warmly disposed towards the Federals. The reception and shelter given to the Shenandoah have given serious offence to this party, and the abortive efforts to discredit the character of the officers and crew of this ship in connection with the cause for which they are in arms, have, as is openly asserted, been followed by the still more unworthy course of action of tampering with the allegiance of the crew. Be that as it may, Captain Waddell complains that 12 or 14 of his men have been induced to desert since the ship was taken onto the slip for repairs; and we are informed that he made a formal representation of the matter to the chief commissioner, and, it is also added, to the police magistrates at the city Police Court, but that Captain Standish intimated that it was beyond his province to interfere. It is now rumoured that one of these deserters has given false information to the police authorities that Captain Waddell has been enrolling men in this port for service on board the Shenandoah or in the Confederate cause.
We may add that Captain Waddell expressed himself with strong indignation against the insinuation that he had violated the hospitality shown to him by the enrolment of a single soul for the service in which he is engaged.8
Proving that when it comes to diplomatic double-talk, he can give as good as he gets, Waddell writes to inform the governor ‘that execution of the warrant had not been refused, as no such person as the one specified was known to be on board, but permission to seize the ship had been refused as such proceedings would be contrary to the dignity of the Confederate flag’.9
This is, of course, a lie. And it’s a lie revealed as all the more blatant when four men, including James Davidson, alias Charley, are caught leaving the ship late on the night of 15 February. Placed under arrest, Davidson, along with William Mackenzie, 22, Franklin Glover, 24, and 17-year-old Arthur Walmsley, appear the next day at Williamstown Police Court, charged with breeching the Foreign Enlistment Act.
James ‘Charley’ Davidson, 22 years old, is first in the dock, facing a packed courtroom and, on the be
nch, a magistrate and a justice of the peace. The rather ponderous charge is read: ‘That being a natural-born subject of the Queen, you did unlawfully, knowingly, and without leave or license of her said Majesty for that purpose, and obtained under the sign manual of her Majesty, or signified by order in council or by proclamation of her Majesty, enter yourself and agree to enlist and enter yourself, to serve as a sailor, and to be employed and serve in and on board a certain vessel-of-war, fitted out, used, equipped, and intended to be used for warlike purposes in the service of a certain foreign power, province, or people, or part of a foreign power or people, exercising and assuming to exercise the powers of government, to wit, the Confederate States of America.’10
Davidson, who is undefended, might well be wondering if it is physically possible to ‘enter yourself’, when the prosecution calls its star witness, John Williams.
Williams repeats under oath the allegations made in his affidavit to US Consul Blanchard, adding that Davidson came on board the Shenandoah two days after it arrived in Melbourne; that Davidson had worn a Confederate uniform; and that he had been present when a Confederate officer, Sailing Master Bulloch, told Davidson to stay out of sight when visitors came aboard.
Davidson, without counsel and obliged to defend himself, asks the witness, ‘Did I ever tell you my name?’
‘Yes, in the galley,’ Williams replies. ‘I called you Bill, and then you told me your name was not Bill but Charley.’
‘Are you sure that Mr Bulloch ever spoke to me?’
‘Yes, and you asked me to lend you a razor to shave yourself, in order to disguise yourself. Before that you had full whiskers. You shaved them off.’
This is a cue for the magistrate, Mr Call, to indulge in a little judicial humour at the expense of the accused. Pointing to Davidson’s chin, he asks, ‘And he left that tuft. Was that to make him a Frenchman or an American?’